


Are You Gonna Stay the Night?

by DailyDaves



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, fake boyfriends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 19:41:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DailyDaves/pseuds/DailyDaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gavin’s visa renewal is wrongfully rejected and he’s faced with imminent deportation, he desperately comes up with the solution to marry Michael. Michael realizes he doesn’t want Gavin to go and that the company needs him and decides to go through with it. Their ‘engagement’ comes under scrutiny by an asshole of an immigration agent, and Gavin and Michael are forced to fly to England and go through with faking their marriage, at which point, he meets Gavin’s family and witnesses first-hand Gavin’s rocky relationship with his family, just as things slowly go from fake to definitely not fake at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the nights were mainly made for saying things you can't say tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> So this is really part of my secret santa gift for [ryanfreewood](http://tmblr.co/mdCNYMlkuvsQXCzxda9G0YQ)! The prompt was fake boyfriends and I took it a little further and turned it into a full-fledged fic. I'll try to update every other week if not every week. Feedback and responses are very much appreciated <3

There was nothing that made Gavin Free more anxious than anything dealing with immigration.

And yet, here he was. Twenty-five years old, sitting alone in the badly lit waiting room of an immigration office, having received an urgent call just hours earlier that he was to come down here. It'd been a long time since he'd felt anxiety like this, the last time probably having to be when he was back in school. Actually, the way he felt now was strikingly similar to how he'd constantly felt in high school, and it was a feeling he thought he'd left behind when he'd graduated.

He had no bloody idea what this was about. None whatsoever. All he'd gotten was a call, an urgent notice, and a ride here from Burnie, who'd offered to accompany him in. It was that unknown thing, that reason he couldn't seem to find, that was making him nervous. He'd done everything right—he had his visa, he and Burnie had recently submitted it to be renewed, and he hadn't been in any trouble with the law—which was something he was constantly careful of. Nothing was wrong, and no matter how many times he wracked his mind for some mistake, some sort of error, he always came back without rhyme or reason. And that was the most terrifying part of this.

There was no way a trip to the immigration office could be good. They didn't tell people to come to this place _immediately_ to give them a pat on the back and encourage them to someday become a fine citizen of the United States. No, they called people down here for bad things. Gavin had never actually seen the inside of an immigration office before and honestly, it looked about as bleak as his thoughts. The whole process of getting his visa in the first place had been done over the internet, through lawyers, and by phone. He'd never actually had to meet with one of these agents in their own offices, nor had he ever wanted to.

He didn't need to be told it to know—the only people who saw the insides of this place were either the idiot agents themselves or people who were in trouble. Unfortunately, that shoved Gavin into the second group. Even if _he_ couldn't think of a single goddamn reason he could be in any trouble, the fact of the matter was that he was here now, meaning that it didn't matter if he could think of one. He was here and already done with whatever he'd done to land him here, so there was no point in bothering to go over the details and be stuck wondering. All he had to do was wait now, and if there was one thing Gavin hated more than not knowing what he was here for, it was waiting to find out.

The seconds ticked by, slowly becoming minutes, and Gavin sat and watched the clock through it all, counting each tick. There was nothing else to do, leaving him staring up at the clock on the wall and waiting, waiting, hating every single moment of it.

He was alone in the grey room. The only other person was the receptionist, who hadn't even bothered to ask his name and had immediately just ordered him to sit down. Waiting itself was excruciating. Waiting alone and having no idea what he was waiting _for_ was one of the worst things he'd ever experienced. With each second that passed, he found himself wishing more and more that he'd taken Burnie up on his offer to come with him. He'd wanted at least a bit of dignity left once he was through with whatever here, so he'd refused any help—a mistake he now saw as naïve and bloody _stupid_.

To make matters worse, he was getting no phone reception up here, so he couldn't text Burnie or anyone else or even busy himself with answering emails and checking his schedule, throwing him into a figurative hell on earth. It was the last bit on top of everything else—being rushed here, having no idea what was going on, being forced to sit and wait on some grey-faced immigration agent, being here alone, and, to top it all off, not being able to _do_ anything to keep himself distracted. A figurative hell on earth, and Gavin had half a mind to just walk out of the building and let _them_ come to _him_ on _his_ time.

He wouldn't though. Not because it was morally wrong or because he needed to _know_. He was just almost completely sure that that was actually illegal in some twisted way, and really, giving them more reason to dislike him wasn't currently on the top of his list of things Gavin Free should do in the case of apparently having immigration customs breathing down his neck. So he decided to just stay put and sit still. If he couldn't get ahead and get on these people's good side, then at least he could stop himself from getting on their bad side.

"Gavin Free."

All-too-eager, Gavin looked to see exactly what he'd expected—an aging grey-faced immigration agent who looked as if he had the worst job in the world. Wordless, he got up and followed him through the door, the walk down the hallway to his office feeling like the longest thing in the world. It was then that he realized it, finally coming to the conclusion he'd been verging on in the waiting room—he still couldn't place what he'd done wrong, but he knew right now that he'd be leaving this building with a for-whatever-reason revoked visa and a one way ticket back to England.

It was a natural conclusion to come to, given what the facts were. He'd been called here on 'urgent notice'. He was forced to meet with an agent in person. He hadn't heard anything on his visa, which he'd recently submitted for renewal. He was being kicked out of the country, leaving the one word Gavin feared stinging on his lips and biting at the tip of his tongue.

"You're deporting me."

He said it as soon as the agent closed the door to his office, a tiny, badly lit room with a desk covered in papers and an uncomfortable looking chair Gavin didn't even bother to sit in, even though the agent pointed him towards it. He shook his head, standing against the door as the agent sat behind his disorganized desk.

He sighed heavily, as if he'd been through this hundreds of times already today. Gavin didn't doubt that he had. "Mr. Free—"

"You're. Deporting. Me." Each word sounded horrible on his lips as he hissed them out, cursed words he'd never thought he'd have to say. He'd never imagined himself here, in this office, having to say these words. He'd never thought he'd have to grasp desperately for a reason, a reason the life he'd built for himself was being forcibly ended. And yet, here he was, just seconds away from being told that yes, he was being deported. He'd walked in this office free and completely legal and he'd leave an outsider, someone who was here but wasn't supposed to be.

The agent just slowly nodded, looking everywhere but at him, as if he didn't want to even face him, "Mr. Free, please understand—"

"This is bullshit."

"Mr. Free—"

"If you're going to deport me, at least have the bloody _decency_ to use my full name!" He was yelling now, his voice high and strained, echoing in the tiny office. He threw every bit of himself into it, forcing all of his rage to come out right here and now.

This wasn't fair. He'd _worked_ for this. He'd worked to get himself here and he'd worked to stay here and now, all with a single visit, a single walk to an immigration agent's office, it was all over. Everything he'd done, everything he'd _worked for_ —it was all gone. He'd built a life for himself. He had a job he'd dreamed of having when he was younger and relationships he'd never been able to build back in England. Everything was perfect—his job, the people he'd gotten to know, the people he considered _family_ now—and with just a single visit, that was all ripped away from him. It wasn't fair.

Nothing about this was fair. He had everything. And now he had nothing. He didn't know why and frankly, he didn't really _care_. Whatever reason it was, he was still being deported. Nothing would change that. No amount of arguing or fighting or yelling would change that. None of that mattered so, despite being angry to the point that he could hear his own accented voice echoing off the walls, he wouldn't bother with that.

"It's not fair."

He sounded vaguely like a child arguing with a parent. He was completely aware of such and he made no attempt to act more maturely, fighting to keep the controlled, calm demeanor he usually had. His hands at his sides had curled into fists, his nails digging so far into his skin that he swore he could feel blood beading at his fingernails. None of this was fair and that _bothered_ Gavin, who hardly ever let anything matter enough to bother him. This was different, though. This was his entire life being taken away from him, the control he had exerted over his life being torn away from him and placed into the hands of an aging immigration agent.

He didn't have any control now. That was all long gone. He wasn't allowed to stay here, here where he'd finally found home, meaning he'd have to go back to England, back to living with his parents in a state of constant depression and loneliness. He'd been raised in the UK, but it'd never been home to him. Even when he'd been an adult he'd always been between filming jobs, being flown from one place to another, staying in a different and unfamiliar hotel every night in a different and unfamiliar place, as if he'd needed anything to accentuate his lack of a real home.

This was his home. Here, in Texas—this was his home. Burnie had worked to get him here and he'd gone through months of constant anxiety and depression while waiting, waiting to find out if he'd be able get approved for a visa. This was where he'd always wanted to be. Even as a teenager, all Gavin had ever wanted to do was work for the people who'd made Red Vs. Blue and film in slow motion. And now—now he had that. He couldn't imagine a better job than working at RoosterTeeth. He couldn't imagine living anywhere else than in the studio apartment at the Ramsey house. The people he worked with and saw on a daily basis—those people were more his family than anyone else had ever been. He had friends, close friends, _family_. And he was happy. Really, truly, actually _happy_. It was all he'd ever wanted.

But now it was being forced away from him and it was all so far out of his control that Gavin couldn't even grasp for the edge of it and try to regain ground. His entire life rested in the hands of the agent behind the desk, the man currently at a loss for words as his eyes scanned a file. His, Gavin presumed. He'd fought for this happiness and he'd finally gained it and had been able to enjoy it and now it was just—all gone.

"Please understand that—"

The crash of nearly every paper on the agent's desk resounded throughout the entire building, shaking the floor beneath his feet as Gavin threw just about everything he could reach on the desk to the ground, the pushed-off papers spreading on the floor, making an even larger mess as the agent just stared, wide-eyed with his mouth agape, not saying a word as Gavin stormed out of the office, making sure to slam the office door behind him as he left.

…

"Let's do a Rage Quit together."

Michael looked at him over his laptop, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"I don't have any recording equipment here," He told Gavin, looking back down at his screen. Gavin wouldn't let up, though.

"Geoff and I've got a whole recording station in the living room at home. Could swing by there and pick it up."

"No."

"Why?" Gavin, persistant and relentless as always. No surprises there.

"My neighbors would complain and I'd be kicked out of my apartment," Which was why he never took his work home with him. Thin walls meant anyone could hear everything he'd say. Michael Jones had gotten famous for screaming at video games. It wasn't a talent he wanted to show off in the thin-walled apartment complex. At work, it was a different story.

"But Michael—"

Michael looked at him over the top of his glasses, his eyes narrowing at him, "If you start whining at me I'll take that bottle of whisky away and you can go dry for the rest of the night."

That got him to shut up at least. It was a start. A start to what, exactly, Michael didn't really know. Gavin was—acting strangely. It wasn't the annoying talking or whining that was strange. Those were normal and still continued to ebb at Michael's thin nerves. It was the fact that Gavin had called him to pick him up from inner city Austin near a bunch of bullshit corporate and government buildings without even telling him why and had insisted on coming back to Michael's apartment. He didn't exactly have any objections—Gavin usually spent the weekend here, anyways, crashing at his place when Michael was too exhausted or drunk to drive him home after going to a party or a bar, and even stayed some weekdays, too—but that wasn't the point.

The point was that something was going on. Michael wasn't _stupid_. He could be rash and blunt, but he wasn't stupid. Gavin was obvious, locking up whenever Michael tried to ask him about what the hell had happened earlier, and was currently drowning himself in alcohol, most likely to forget whatever had happened, and that alone made Michael curious. He knew Gavin and he knew Gavin well. Gavin was the type of complete idiot who, really, had the whole complete idiot thing on for a show. Not a lot of things usually bothered Gavin because he found ways to walk away from it or prevent it from getting to the point that it actually bothered him. So seeing him like this, obviously upset over something, was strange.

Maybe even—worrying? He did care about Gavin. For Christ's sake, Gavin _was_ his best friend. So yeah, he was worried, and ready to admit that. But he did know Gavin. And that meant he also knew that when he actually was bothered about something, he didn't talk about it. He kept it hidden and inside so he wouldn't have to deal with it and so that others wouldn't have to deal with it. That was what he was currently doing right now, drinking to forget and drinking to get to the point that he wouldn't have to think about it. Michael let him. Because he knew Gavin. And he knew that if he got Gavin drunk enough, the idiot would really tell him anything.

Gavin leaned his head back, resting it against the arm of the couch and closing his eyes, "I wasn't whining."

"'But Michael!'" He mocked Gavin's accent, drawing a childish scowl from him as he put on the high voice and cockney accent. "Does that sound like whining to you, Gavin? Because it sure does to me."

There was a pause and Michael took the short moment to go back to writing the email to Burnie and Matt about an idea he'd had for a new RT Life. All too soon, Gavin was back at it, "We could go back to the office. It's only eight. No one would mind."

This was useless. Michael shut his laptop, pushing it away from him as he did, sighing and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He had no idea why Gavin was so persistent and _why_ he wanted to record a Rage Quit so much, but then again, Gavin could be completely and utterly unpredictable, so Michael had learned over time that he couldn't be surprised if he didn't expect a lot from Gavin.

"You've been drinking and I'm about to start. That's not a good idea," For the first time, he gave Gavin his full attention, and what he saw surprised him—Gavin wasn't returning his gaze, his eyes downcast and his mouth set into a disappointed frown. That was odd—he'd really just assumed Gavin was in the mood to fuck with Michael while doing a video with him and that was why he was so intent on recording something. Unfortunately, that didn't appear to be the actual case. He couldn't quite remember a time Gavin actually looked so _disappointed._ "We'll do it tomorrow, Gav. We can go in early together before anyone gets there and record it. There's a new expansion out for that Surgeon Simulator game, anyways. People would probably love to see us do that."

That at least made Gavin stop frowning as much and he actually met Michael's eyes, holding his stare for a long moment before speaking again, "I want to yell, too. Like you do."

"—What?"

If he didn't expect any specific reaction out of Gavin, then he couldn't be disappointed. He'd accepted long ago that Gavin Free was unpredictable and didn't usually fit to people's molds of him. That being said, Gavin was still Gavin. However unpredictable he might be, Gavin was still the absolute little shit who was Michael's best friend and after two years of being around him, he _knew_ Gavin. Gavin was excitable and energetic and it took _a lot_ to actually fully piss him off. Even when he was pissed, Gavin didn't yell or scream like Michael did. All he usually did was stomp off and come back once he was calmer. His anger seemed to be more on that _annoyance_ and _irritation_ side of things, while Michael's was more _furious_.

Then there was the fact that Gavin didn't even like yelling. He thought it was funny as hell when Michael did it, but that was about as far as it went. He hardly ever yelled himself, the closest he ever got to it being his voice getting high-pitched and rising in volume when something started to push at his limits. So it was beyond him that Gavin would actually want to scream at something like Michael did during his signature series and it only further shoved his assumption that something was actually _wrong_ with Gavin and the fucking idiot was being his usual self and not saying anything about it.

Gavin was like that, and taking into account every single other thing he didn't like about Gavin—the fact that he was too easy going, when he intentionally made Michael angry, his usual disregard for other people's feelings, the way he talked so badly about himself, among a lot of other things— _that_ was perhaps the worst thing about him and it drove Michael up a fucking wall. Gavin was one of those people who constantly kept up a front that everything was alright. He didn't let anyone in, always building a wall between himself and other people, and hid it away so that all people would see was the British idiot who enjoyed messing with other people more than anything else.

"What's going on?" He came right out and asked it. He'd known Gavin long enough. Gavin would evade the question as much as he possibly could and would turn it around or accuse Michael of something. If he didn't come straight out and ask it, Gavin would do what he was best at and steer the conversation away from himself so he could avoid it.

Gavin held his stare, lying to his face, "Nothing."

"Bullshit."

"I said it was nothing!"

He had to keep this up. Gavin was fidgeting, playing with the band of his watch in what Michael had learned was one of his nervous impulses. He stood abruptly, facing Gavin, his voice raising to a near-yell, "It's not nothing, so stop feeding me shit and tell me what's going on."

"Michael—"

There was that high pitched whine Gavin always put on to annoy him or get him to stop pressing him for information. The sound of it sent sparks of irritation flying up Michael's spine, making actual anger start to prick at him. It was times like this that made him legitimately angry at Gavin—none of that fake anger he acted out in videos or recordings. Actual, real anger at how goddamn _stupid_ he could be when Michael was right here, willing to listen to whatever he had to say, and Gavin still didn't trust him, his _best friend_ with whatever was bothering him. He hated when Gavin did this, when he tried to keep it all in and hide it, when he thought he could deal with it on his own when in reality, he obviously _couldn't_ and it was affecting him.

"Tell me," He forced himself to level his voice and try to stay calm. Gavin was still sitting on the couch, his forgotten about glass of alcohol still in his hand. His green eyes were wide as he stared up at Michael, the one thing Michael could be grateful for being that he actually had Gavin's full attention. For a moment, Michael actually thought he had him. He watched him, green eyes wide open, his mouth slightly agape, as if he were about to say something, about to confess what was actually going on and admit, for once, that it wasn't _actually_ nothing. The room went silent, the only sound being Gavin's quick, almost panicked breathing and then—

"It's nothing."

Two words, and they made Michael want to scream every insult in his colorful vocabulary at him. He didn't know what else to do, what else to say, so he just went over the facts again in his head, desperately trying to keep himself even and grounded in the face of Gavin's obvious denial. He'd gotten a call from Gavin to come pick him up, his directions making Michael wind up in the part of Austin where multiple government buildings were located. Gavin was at a park and had been quiet almost the entire ride back to Michael's apartment, only commenting once to ask if he could stay the night. His quietness had been the first indicator, strange when put up next to his constant talking and ridiculous questions that usually kept Michael entertained in the car with him.

They'd arrived back here, Gavin had promptly started drinking, not giving any sort of an explanation. Michael had given him an odd look and accepted it, since there wasn't anything Gavin wouldn't tell him if he was drunk enough. And then there was what had set him off, bringing the two of them to this point—Gavin had insisted on doing Rage Quit with Michael and when he'd finally agreed to do it in the morning, had told Michael that he wanted to scream and yell in the recording, something that was both uncharacteristic for him, as well as the most worrying thing that had happened, since Gavin was by-nature not an angry person.

"It's not nothing!" He'd run out of things to say, so they were back at this, winding up back at the 'it's nothing!', 'it's not nothing!' part of the argument. He wasn't getting anywhere with this, but he wasn't about to give up on it. "I can't—"

There was a ground shaking shatter that cut him off as Gavin stood, glaring at Michael in a way he'd never seen before. The glass previously in his hand fell to the ground, shattering into thousands of pieces, making a mess of liquid and tiny sharp pieces of glass on the floor. Gavin jumped at the impact, leaping back at the noise and straight onto the bulk of the damage, his right foot going straight into a pile of glass shards accompanied by a puddle of whiskey. Michael just watched in shock, watching Gavin yell out in pain, a string of curses he rarely heard from his mouth echoing throughout the apartment.

Goddammit.

God _fucking_ dammit.

He cared about Gavin a lot, but right about now he fucking _hated_ him with every fiber of his being. He could almost hear his neighbors calling management to complain about the drunk British man yelling curses at the top of his lungs. The mess was too much, scattered over the whole floor, all Gavin's fault and all because he wouldn't just fucking _say_ what was bothering him. There was never quite a moment like this before, a moment in which Michael was completely and wholly consumed by the want to lunge forward and punch his coworker and best friend in the _fucking face_.

He might've, too, if it hadn't been for the expression on Gavin's face, the way he was doubled over, his face red and his breathing heavy, his eyes clenched shut with was the pain stemming from the foot he still had in the glass, which was only adding to the mess by spewing blood.

That wasn't what stopped him, though. It was the way Gavin looked up at him, the strangled cry of what could only be a plea for help falling from his slightly parted lips, his eyes watering. It was the way it didn't seem to be _just_ the pain or _just_ the glass in his foot that was causing this. And above all, it was what he said, his voice quiet and strained, and so utterly filled with emotion that it left Michael's mind blank and at the same time, swirling with thousands upon thousands of words.

"I'm being deported, Michael."

\--

"Deported—?"

Michael repeated the word back to him and it sounded as if he were trying to sound out a completely foreign word, struggling to make it sound right.

"Deported. Yeah."

Gavin breathed out each word, his hands in fists and his teeth clenching as pain continued to shoot through him, up through his foot, where he had shards of glass stuck in his skin, traveling up his spine and shaking him at the core. He struggled to still stand, trying desperately to keep himself upright without his legs buckling under him and without yelling out even more in pain.

Every bit of anger fell from Michael's face, all the irritation going from him as soon as Gavin finally told him what was going on. What was left in the wake of his fury was pure undulated shock, his voice quiet and disbelieving, his brown eyes huge as Gavin watched him try to wrap his mind around him. A second ago, he'd been ready to no doubt throw Gavin out of his bloody ass for accidentally making such a huge mess and tell him that if he was going to act like that, then he might as well get out. That had been just a second, a single moment ago, and in the time span of a single beat of conversation, that anger had been completely drained from him by four words from Gavin's mouth.

"How—why—?"

"Oh, _fuck_ ," For once, Gavin didn't mean to evade the conversation. He hissed out the curse from under his breath, leaning his entire wait on the arm of the couch and worked at finally moving himself from the scattered pile of glass on the floor and into a sitting position. He let out another cry in pain, gagging at the sight of the blood, _his blood_ , on the floor, dreading looking at the damage he'd done to himself when he'd jumped back in surprise at the glass breaking against the floor.

"Holy shit—" Michael had finally torn his eyes from Gavin, looking instead at the injury he'd given himself from pure carelessness. "Hang on—just. Hang on. I'll get you something."

"Your floor—"

"Shut up. I don't give a flying fuck about my floor. Sit still."

So Gavin did just that, sitting still and doing whatever Michael told him to do until his bleeding foot was taken care of, the entire world seeming to move around him in a blur. It'd been like that since he'd stormed out of immigration office, slow moving and still moving too fast for him to catch up and understand it all. He'd thought it'd be fine, that he'd talk to Burnie in the morning and ask him what to do and not tell anyone before then, but things were never easy with Michael. Michael had demanded to know what was wrong, an argument got heated, and now Michael knew and there were a million shards of glass on the floor.

The gentle buzz of alcohol dulled the pain at least, warming his cheeks and providing at least a bit of solace from his swarming thoughts, letting him finally _breathe_ for the first time since Michael picked him up. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to just _not think_ as the world blurred and moved fast around him.

"There has to be a way to get out of this," Michael was saying, pacing back and forth in front of Gavin, their previous argument completely abandoned. Gavin almost wished they could go back to arguing about Rage Quit, or really, anything other than _this_. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't even want to deal with it right now. He just wanted to leave it until morning. Burnie would know what to do about it. Burnie always knew what to do and would figure out a way to get Gavin to stay.

"There has to be."

Gavin sighed, watching Michael as he continued to pace, "Like what?" If he couldn't figure a way out of it on his own, then how could Michael? He didn't even know _why_ Michael cared so much. When Gavin had confessed he was getting deported, everything had drained out of Michael's face, all the anger leaving and being replaced by pure shock. He'd never seen Michael look so shocked, so confused, and ever—distraught.

Michael stopped, fixing Gavin with a long stare, "I don't—I don't know." A second later, he was pacing again, Gavin's eyes following him as he paced back and forth, back and forth. "What if—isn't there a way to contest it?"

"Don't know," Gavin's voice was monotonous, but he wasn't disinterested. There was no way Michael could come up with something Gavin hadn't. He'd gone over everything multiple times, trying to think of a reason, even though he previously hadn't really cared for one. If he had a reason, at least he could figure out whether or not it was a legitimate reason for being deported, but over and over again, he came up with nothing. He hadn't broken the law. He hadn't been arrested. He hadn't messed up in resubmitting his visa. He'd gotten it in on time and had figured that just like every other time, it'd be renewed without much of an issue. It could be a screw up on the immigration agency's part, but even that seemed unlikely. After all, it was a government-run agency. They _had_ to have checked everything over at least twice.

He wasn't stupid. He might've been buzzed, but he wasn't stupid. His thoughts were dulled to a manageable amount, but he could still think just as clearly as ever. He knew they wanted him out as soon as possible and even if there was a mistake or an illegitimate reason, contesting that would take time, effort, and money, and would cause a lot of people to get involved that he hadn't necessarily wanted to get involved in the first place—lawyers, the Ramseys, the rest of the company, their HR department—and in the midst of all that time, effort, and money, his time would more likely than not run out and land him on the first one-way flight back to England.

It really seemed like there was nothing to do in this situation. It felt like he was out of options, that there hadn't even been an option to begin with. He might as well go home and pack up all his shit and have Geoff drive him to the airport first thing in the morning. That was essentially what he was waiting for, anyways. He was hopeless and optionless, leaving him watching Michael struggle to grasp onto a way, a reason, a solution to an equation Gavin had already tried multiple times.

"What if we called that guy—the agent you told me about—and asked him _why_ you're getting deported?" It was obvious Michael was just throwing any suggestions out. Gavin didn't know why he cared or why he was trying to find that solution Gavin had tried so hard to solve, but at least it was _something_. He hadn't thought Michael or anyone else would really give that much of a shit about what was going on. Sure—they were his coworkers. He knew they'd be disappointed, but he hadn't expected _this_. Michael was refusing to give up on this, refusing to just accept it and take it as it was.

"Didn't get his number," Gavin just shrugged it off with another sigh, waiting for Michael's next suggestion. Unfortunately, whatever he said was nothing Gavin hadn't already thought of, nothing he'd already lingered on and had dismissed once he found the problem with. For Michael's sake, he almost wished he had stuck around to hear the reasoning behind his deportation, just so that Michael could at least have a bit of closure and so he would stop pacing back and forth and racking his head for a reason and a loophole.

"This is fucking _bullshit!_ " Michael threw his hands into the air and Gavin flinched as he screaming each word into the thin-walled apartment, his face red and his body tense with anger and frustration. One thing about Michael was that he always threw his everything into it, pushing all his anger into his voice and using it to channel his fury into something. He'd get so worked up sometimes that it actually made Gavin _laugh_ , but not now, not when that was actual, real anger, making Michael so frustrated that he was yelling, having apparently stopped caring who heard what. "This is bullshit, Gavin! They can't do this to you! They can't just—they can't suddenly call you up and tell you that you need to leave the fucking country! They can't do that! You have a job! You've done nothing wrong—you're actually fucking _happy_ and you're my best fucking friend and I'm not going to let this happen, Gavin. I'm not."

He was watching Michael more intently now, hanging onto his every word and movement as Michael paced and ranted and yelled everything into the quiet apartment. Michael didn't want him to leave. Gavin could see that. And he was willing to fight for him. That was actually—comforting. It was good to know that someone besides Burnie would protest and help figure out what was going on and how to stop it. It wouldn't be enough, though. Gavin knew that it usually didn't take very long for someone to get deported. He had _maybe_ three weeks. Even with their power on the internet and standing in the community, that _wasn't enough bloody time_. It wasn't enough time to gather people and resources and it wasn't enough time to make a big deal out of things and it wasn't enough time to get his probably rejected visa back to being valid. If they were going to do anything, they were going to have to do it quick, and there was nothing quick enough that would actually be possible and legal.

Michael went on, his voice getting louder and louder, pacing faster across the living room he'd just cleaned up, "Come on, there's got to be something. What the fuck do people _usually_ do to stay here? Citizenship would take too long. Getting another visa would, too. Passport? You could stay for ninety days? No, then you couldn't fucking legally work here. You can't stay illegally, either, since we work for a goddamn internet company. Come on, there's got to be something. Other people have _got_ to have had this problem. What do they—"

Gavin's head snapped up, his eyes going wide, "Oh my god."

Michael stopped in front of him and turned to him, raising an eyebrow, "What? You got something?"

"We're such idiots, Michael."

They were. It'd been right in front of him all along. A solution too simple, too obvious, too completely _possible_ that Gavin had just overlooked it. There was no way it couldn't work, and he'd been too much of a dumbass to have not seen it. It'd take some more planning, probably a change in living arrangements, and a bit of acting, but it was nothing he couldn't easily pull off. Plus, it'd leave him coming out on top of things and in a better position than he had been beforehand.

"What? What is it?" Michael stepped towards him, clearly more confused than ever. Gavin didn't respond at first, going over it again. There had to be an issue somewhere. It'd recently become legal. They were already best friends. It was completely believable. It wouldn't take too long. There had to be a downside somewhere, a loophole. It was too perfect to be true.

But there wasn't. No matter how hard he thought or what he went over, reworking the problem again and again in his head, it always worked out to the same infallible solution. As long as Michael would agree, as long as he could convince him to go along with this—it would work. It would actually bloody work. And if it worked, he could stay here. He wouldn't be deported. He wouldn't be shipped back to England. He could stay here. This was the only actual _home_ he'd ever had and the people at RoosterTeeth were the only actual _family_ he'd ever had. This was where he belonged, right here in Austin. As Michael had said, he was actually _happy_ for once. He didn't want that all to be ripped away by the hands of some immigration agent who'd barely bothered to learn anything past his last name.

So he leaned forward, barely breathing, "Michael, what are you willing to do to keep me here?"

Michael shook his head and answered immediately, without missing even a beat, "Anything, Gav.

"Then marry me."

 


	2. Stop the world, I wanna get off with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the threat of prison and permanent deportation are brought into mix, but the biggest problem remains to be Gavin's family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the feedback and kudos!
> 
> [The tumblr post!](http://burnvins.co.vu/post/77542043966/are-you-gonna-stay-the-night-2-8)

"Hell. Fucking. No."

"But Michael!"

"Fuck, sorry—" Michael backpedaled almost immediately, feeling bad for his immediate refusal. He had, after all, said _anything_ , but—

Marriage?

Jesus fucking Christ. That was a lot to swallow. Marriage. As in love of his life, stay with him forever type of marriage. It would—it would serve the purpose. It would get Gavin citizenship. But—marriage?

He wasn't angry-just confused. It seemed sudden, coming out of the blue. One moment he'd been throwing ideas to Gavin, only to be turned down with logical explanations as to why each one wouldn't work, and the next, Gavin was proposing marriage to him. He couldn't be mad, not when he wanted to help Gavin. He cared about him a lot and he honestly didn't want to lose him, but marriage was a huge thing.

Unfortunately, it seemed like that was the only way to do it. Everything else had been shot down, Gavin telling him over and over again that no, that would take too much time or they couldn't do it. They needed something immediate, something that was an excuse to keep them from deporting Gavin _now._ And this was it. This was the only solution. Everything else Michael had previously thrown out being exhausted and rejected. Gavin had turned down contesting it and renewing his visa, saying it'd take too long, and he was right. The only thing left to do was for Michael Jones to marry his best friend.

"What about Barbara? Or Lindsay?" He offered, trying to worm his way out of it. He was _not_ ready for fucking marriage, especially with _Gavin_ , of all people. It wasn't like he was with anyone else, nor had he been since working at RoosterTeeth, but he felt like he was too young to get married. Besides that, there was the obvious point that he wasn't in love with Gavin. Why not a girl? Why had Gavin gone straight to him? The company was like family—any one of the girls would easily take up the chance and step up if it meant that Gavin could stay in the country.

Gavin shook his head, "No. Michael, my parents are crap liars. I have to have an excuse to have not told them. They'll be suspicious and tattle if I tell them I'm marrying some girl at work. Please, Michael, you're my best friend. It won't be that bad. We'll get divorced as soon as I get my green card. It'll be top. Promise."

His head was spinning, and he couldn't tell if it was from the whiskey he'd drank to deal with the fact that Gavin was getting deported or if it was from the pure shock of the even worse marriage suggestion. He didn't know what to make of it. He didn't want Gavin to go. He really didn't—Gavin meant a lot to him. He was his best friend, the person he hung out with almost every night after work, the person he'd grown so comfortable having around that he couldn't imagine what things would be like without him. He didn't particularly want to, either. If it meant keeping Gavin in the States and not having him deported—he _was_ his best friend and all. Not only that, but the company needed him, too—then he'd do it.

Gavin needed to be _here_. He'd heard Gavin talk more than once about not being happy in England, and _this_ was the place he called home. Not where he'd grown up. Here, not some place across the fucking ocean. Here. Here In Texas, here with Michael, and here with RoosterTeeth. He was happy here and that was more than enough to make Michael want to keep him here. He didn't want Gavin to have to go back to a job that he described as 'being shipped all over the place and working ridiculous filming hours'. He wanted him here, where Gavin undoubtedly belonged.

So he'd do it. Gavin was right—people would be suspicious if they knew Gavin was suddenly marrying some girl without any warning. This was the perfect fucking cover up for the perfect plan. No one would know and maybe—just maybe, they could actually pull it off. It wasn't an actual crime to marry someone he didn't love. People did it all the time. This was no different. He'd help Gavin get out of being deported and stay 'married' long enough that he'd get his green card. No one outside of the company would ever know. It was fucking perfect and seemingly fool-proof.

It was almost too good to be true . After all, Gavin was fucking _drunk_ (or at the very least—buzzed) and he'd been the one to suggest it. Usually, drunk Gavin suggestions were both extremely stupid and full of holes and problems. That didn't seem to be the case this time, though. It felt like he'd finally struck gold and come up with an actually good fucking idea. It was an idea that involved Michael getting platonically-married to his best friend, but regardless of the discomfort that would come with it, it was still going to work perfectly. It wouldn't be that much of a change in their usual behavior, anyways. Gavin was already very touchy and they were good friends. Acting like an engaged couple for a group of immigration agents really wouldn't be that hard.

"Michael, _please_. You're the only guy I'd _ever_ consider marrying. _Please_ ," Gavin was begging, his voice not _quite_ that usual high-pitched whine, but slowly getting dangerously close to it. Michael was almost tempted to laugh, because he'd never thought he'd hear Gavin _whining_ about wanting Michael to marry him. It was surreal. But more than anything, it was funny, and it was all he could do to fight to keep a straight face.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" He asked, dragging this on for just a bit longer.

" _Mi_ chael _!_ " There it was, that high pitched fucking whine he always pulled on, the same whine Michael had mocked him for earlier when he'd been begging to do Rage Quit with him. He nearly started laughing, unsure if he was in hysterics because he was so shocked, because he was being forced to make a decision about this _right now_ since there wasn't any time to dwell on it, or because it really was _that funny_. He could only assume it was one of the first two, along with the alcohol he'd consumed thrown into the mix. Regardless, there was something about this whole situation, this weird-ass, sudden situation that had him wanting to burst out laughing.

But he didn't. Instead, he just sighed, put on a show of rolling his eyes, and finally said, "Yeah. I guess I'll fucking marry you. Just know that you're a fucking idiot, but you're a fucking idiot whom I actually like being around, and that would be really goddamn hard to do when you're across an entire ocean."

\--

-

"The two of you are the fucking _dumbest_ idiots I've ever hired."

That wasn't an opinion. By now it was just a known fact, given that Burnie had been telling them the same thing for the past ten minutes after worryingly skillfully picking the lock on Michael's door. Geoff wouldn't even look at him, only glaring at him when he'd forced Gavin to wake up. He didn't even need to say it—he knew Geoff was far more disappointed in him than Burnie would ever be.

In all honestly, Gavin didn't even have any excuses for himself. It wasn't that he couldn't think of any. There were plenty—too drunk to think clearly, too upset to come up with any other way, too dumb and rash to agree to something other than an immediate fix to the problem. He could think of plenty excuses. He just didn't need one. He might've been drunk. He had a headache like no other to confirm that for him. He might've been upset. And he might've been rash and dumb in thinking of a solution. But it was still a solution. It wasn't the smartest solution. Geoff and Burnie here now proved that. It was a solution, though, and it was a solution better than the one Burnie was telling him about.

" _Fucking dumbasses._ We could've sued! We could've contested it! We could've easily just _shown_ them that we submitted it _right_ and _on time_ , but no, you two had to go and fucking tell that government agent that you're getting _married_ ," Burnie was yelling at him as Gavin rubbed at his eyes, his head pounding with each of Burnie's loud words. It was too early, too loud, and too soon. He wasn't in the mood for this now, not with the rough night he'd had.

They hadn't just gotten engaged and been done with it. The engagement ring on the coffee table was evidence to that, as well as the photos Gavin had emailed to Burnie and Geoff at three in the morning. That had been a mistake—since the two of them had apparently seen the email first thing in the morning, immediately knew where Gavin was, and had come down here and thrown both he and Michael into this predicament, which involved the both of them hungover and being scolded like children out in the living room at Michael's apartment at six in the morning. _This_ itself wasn't a mistake, though. He was completely sober and calm now and it was _still_ a better idea than what Burnie had to offer.

"That would've taken too long," Finally, Gavin spoke, saying exactly what had been going through his mind the previous night when he'd first pitched the idea to Michael. "We don't have that long, Burnie. This was faster."

Michael just groaned in response, clearly feeling the hangover worse than Gavin was. He spared him a glance, almost laughing at the way Michael was stretched out on the other end of the couch where he'd slumped down, his arm over his eyes. At least he wasn't going back on his word. That much was a bloody relief, and if nothing else, Gavin still had that.

Last night was a blur.

Not the usual sort of blur, either. Gavin actually remembered most of it. It just seemed to go by in a blur. They'd gotten an engagement ring, agreed Gavin would only wear it for photos (it was goddamn _annoying_ to have that thing on his hand, anyways), had taken the photos, and had come back to Michael's apartment. Somewhere between coming back and passing out on his living room couch—Gavin couldn't remember exactly when—he'd found the email of the immigration agent he'd met with while searching the Austin branch's page online and had emailed him a message saying he'd gotten engaged and had used it as an excuse for getting so upset over being deported.

So the immigration office knew. And so did Burnie and Geoff. Unfortunately, somehow, some way, Burnie and Geoff _also_ knew that the immigration office knew. It wasn't hard to figure out why, even when he had a killer hangover. Burnie was his boss. They'd contacted Burnie recently about his deportation and had mentioned he'd gotten engaged. Burnie had then told Geoff. It was easy enough to work out.

"Yes, but it wouldn't be fucking _illegal_ ," It was the first time Geoff had spoken and to Gavin's shock, it wasn't to yell at Gavin and berate him for what he thought was poor judgment.

Gavin turned to him in surprise, repeating him, "Illegal?" It was flawless. He'd determined that last night. It was simple and crazy, but simple and crazy enough that it would definitely work. Marry Michael and stay married to him long enough that he would get citizenship. Simple, easy, and the perfect plan. It might've been rash and it involved him getting married to his best friend, but it would work. Or so he thought. Until Geoff said anything, that was.

"Illegal," Geoff gave him _that_ look, his eyes narrowed at Gavin, his mouth set into what Gavin could only see as a disappointed frown to accompany a disappointed glare. There was no doubt about it—Geoff was actually bloody _angry_ with him. It was the look that he only gave Gavin when he was completely serious, a warning that he wasn't joking around at all, and it told him that Geoff was furious at him. He'd only seen that look a couple other times, and those were times that Gavin had royally messed up and had dug himself into shit so deep, he couldn't even realize he was in the hole. Gavin just glanced away, not wanting to see that look of utter disappointment on his face, trying to shift his focus on anything in the room except Geoff.

"It's not illegal to marry someone you don't fucking love, Geoff. Sorry to burst your goddamn bubble," Michael had apparently finally figured out how to form comprehensible words. He didn't even so much as move, still stretched out across the couch, an arm thrown over his eyes in a feeble attempt to block out the rays of dawn streaming through the apartment windows.

"No, it isn't. However, it's a federal crime to marry someone just so they can get citizenship. You know what that means, Michael? That means about twenty-five years in fucking _prison_ and Gavin getting kicked out of the country and never allowed back in. You want that?"

It had been too good to be true.

Two years and Gavin was still getting used to this country's goddamn _weird_ laws, specifically the weird laws relating to immigrants and people like him. If he wasn't from England, it wouldn't be a problem. But he was and that made it a crime to marry someone he didn't love. He could understand why—it made it easy for just _anyone_ to get citizenship—but that didn't make it any less stupid. And right now, those stupid laws and regulations and whatever else were currently making him want to tear his hair out and scream.

It'd been a flawless plan. Absolutely, bloody flawless. He'd had it all worked out and had gone over everything that could possibly go wrong and worked them out and because of that, he'd acted completely on his own and hadn't told Burnie or anyone else besides Michael before launching into his plan and announcing his engagement to the immigration agent. He hadn't thought there would be an issue and he'd never considered anything like this to be a possibility. Prison. Geoff had said _prison_. He could've just landed Michael into prison for over twenty years. If anyone had said anything to the agency about the fakeness of their relationship, Gavin wouldn't be allowed back and Michael would be thrown into prison for something that had been Gavin's idea in the first goddamn place.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that everything was so far beyond his control, that he had no control over his own goddamn life, that he was struggling for and grasping onto loopholes and exceptions to rules and laws just to hang onto what he had right now. It wasn't fair. A week ago, everything had been _fine_. He'd been just waiting on his visa to come back reapproved like it always was. He'd been essentially worry-free and finally _happy_ , only to have that all repeatedly torn from him in the span of a single day. It wasn't fair. This wasn't fair. Right now, nothing was fair, and it had Gavin lost and looking for anything to hold onto so he could stop the spinning and take back the controls.

They could still do it. They could still get married. They'd just have to act like they were in love. He had no idea how whether or not they were in love and the legitimacy of their relationship would be tested, but from what Geoff had told him, there would be _something_ for sure. They just had to pass that test. It would be fine. It would be fine, but that was counting on _a lot_ of people. If one person tattled—if just _one_ person told the agency that it wasn't real, that they were faking everything, it'd all be over. Not just for Gavin, either—there were now high stakes for both he and Michael. He'd drug Michael into this and because of the fact that Gavin had either been drunk enough, stupid enough, or a mixture of both to email the immigration agency the previous night, there was now no getting out of it without taking the fall.

A lot of people would have to lie. They'd have to lie. Burnie and Geoff would have to lie. The company would have to lie. Parents would have to lie. One word, just _one goddamn word_ could ruin it all and—

"You two—" He could barely even get it out, the question burning at the edge of his lips as he grew terrified to even so much as speak it. "You two—didn't—you _wouldn't_ —"

"No, you fucking idiot, I lied for you! Who do you think I am, Gavin? You don't think that I'd fess up the truth when they're threatening to deport you?" Burnie yelled every word, the loudest he'd been since getting here, making Gavin flinch back and shudder again, his ears ringing with his voice as he tried to force his hungover and lagging mind to take in everything he was saying. He watched Burnie pause and he let the relief wash over him as Burnie sighed, calming down at last, "You and I worked our goddamn asses off to get you here and now we're both going to work to make it so you can stay."

They helped him. Without even knowing why, without even knowing how, they'd lied for him. Both of them. They'd told the immigration agent that it was a legitimate relationship and from the sound of it, they hadn't even had to think twice about it. There was something about that, something about the simple fact that they'd knowingly involved themselves and thrown themselves in the way of danger just for him—that gave him hope. This could potentially work. Burnie and Geoff were here, berating him over making a rash decision, but the fact remaining was that they still lied. Which meant the immigration agency had no grounds to throw Michael in prison and Gavin out of the country. Not yet, anyways.

He leaned forward, breathing slowly, finally letting himself look Burnie right in the eyes. The scolding was over and the portion of this where the two of them treating Gavin and Michael like children because of a decision they'd made was done with. The _why_ and the _holy shit you two are so goddamn stupid_ part was covered, only leaving room for all of them to come to the realization Gavin just had—that things weren't over _just yet_ —and to figure out how to make it stay that way. They were already doing this, anyways. There was no going back on it, no calling the immigration department and gleefully yelling 'just kidding!'. They'd started this mess, and the only thing left to so was run it so far into the ground that they just might come up with gold.

Crazy and stupid, but it was crazy and stupid enough to work. Though, that was counting on a lot of people. The stakes were high now. Gavin and Michael were covered—Michael agreeing to marry him was a verbal contract being signed to carry through with this lie as far as it went. Geoff and Burnie were also covered from what Burnie had just said—'now we're both going to make it work' couldn't be anything _other_ than him all but straight out saying he'd lie. The company—that might be a bit of an issue, but probably not anything too huge to handle.

"What now?" He asked into the silence, breaking the atmosphere of disappointment and anger. There was no going back on this, so there was no use in lingering on them being disappointed in him. There were bigger issues to tackle, and Gavin could see right now that if anything, he'd been an idiot to try and go through it with just Michael. Outside help was a necessary thing, and they'd need a lot of it. Burnie and Geoff were a good place to start.

Burnie just looked down at him, all the anger and whatnot gone from his expression, holding the note of silence for far longer than Gavin was comfortable with before saying exactly what Gavin wanted and needed to hear, "We go through with this."

Gavin's lips twitched upwards in the beginnings of a smirk, "It'll work."

Burnie glanced at Geoff, a long look shared between them, both of them sharing similar expressions. Frustration was written clearly on them, making Gavin want to grin more. Even if the two of them thought it was a poor and rash decision, they couldn't say it wouldn't work. Because if they played the right cards in the right places, it would absolutely work. It was quick and easy and they'd have to act like they were in love—which, really, how hard could that possibly be?—and get a lot of people to lie for them. The latter was obviously harder than the former, but fortunately, still doable. It wouldn't be easy and he could see right now that _none_ of this would be easy, but it wasn't impossible.

Burnie looked back at him, "It _could_ work."

"It probably won't," Geoff added, shaking his head at Gavin and sighing heavily. "But it _could_. Theoretically. As in, theoretically for two people who _aren't_ dumbasses."

Gavin couldn't keep the grin from his face, "It _will_ work."

"Look, Gavin," Burnie started, drawing Gavin's attention back to him again. They'd said it could work. Now they had to work on the details. They had to figure out _how_ it'd work. "The rest of the company will lie for you. Come on, Gavin. We run a company full of people from the internet. I think everyone can tell a convincing lie without a problem. We're your friends—I've already sent out a companywide email telling them about a private meeting tomorrow. We'll tell them then. That isn't your main concern, though."

He was well aware of that and had been for a while. He and Michael. Burnie and Geoff. The company. All of the above were fine, checked off and taken care of. That left one thing. One thing that _usually_ wouldn't be that much of a problem, but it was now. Burnie and Geoff both knew it was an issue, too, Burnie raising his eyebrow at him, causing the grin to fall from Gavin's face and for him to suddenly come crashing back down to the ground, falling so hard that it left his head spinning and his heart racing. Panic shot through him, sudden and making him abruptly want to get up, unable to sit still and just listen, making his blood run cold.

"My parents."

Burnie nodded, "Your parents."

He breathed out slowly, glancing away from Burnie. That hadn't been something he'd been prepared to deal with. He'd planned on getting married without saying anything, by just letting it be one of the many things he didn't tell his mother about, but it was obvious that wasn't going to work. It the immigration branch suspected _anything_ illegitimate about his and Michael's relationship, the first place they'd go would be Gavin's family. That would be the most telling thing, since Gavin was the foreign person here in the first place, so if the engagement was legitimate, he would've told his family about it. His family not knowing would be telling and would give it all away, and none of that was even taking into account the fact that his mother would straight out say if she didn't think their relationship was real.

"What?"

This time, it was Michael's voice to draw him out of his thoughts. Michael was sitting up now, squinting at Gavin, and it suddenly occurred to him that Michael was the sole person in the room who had no idea what they were talking about. Burnie and Geoff at least had some experience with Gavin's family. They knew how overbearing and pressuring they were. But Michael didn't. Michael knew nothing more than the fact that Gavin's parents were divorced, he had two siblings, and they lived in Oxfordshire. Nothing more, and Gavin had always intended on keeping it that way.

Gavin just shook his head, unable to answer, unable to find the words to explain _anything_ to him when his rocky relationship with the rest of his family always seemed too complicated for words. He looked at Burnie, silently begging him for help. While explaining his own life, Gavin was never good with words, never completely able to express everything in coherent sentences or form quick thoughts and lingering emotions into words. It was just too difficult, forcing him to just sit there with wide eyes and his mouth half open, looking to Burnie for help when he couldn't even explain it himself.

" _What_?" Michael repeated, sounding twice as annoyed as before, that familiar irritation seeping into his voice. If there was one thing Gavin knew about Michael, it was that he _did not_ like things being kept from him. He hated secret conversations and whispered words, always preferring everything to just be out in the open. It was one of the many things Gavin usually liked about him, liking the way Michael would demand to know what was going on or would force it out of Gavin and not let him get away with whatever he was hiding. But right now, he just seemed too curious for his own good, walking into a minefield when not one of the three of them could tell him it was there.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," It wasn't Burnie who finally came to Gavin's aid. Instead, it was Geoff, rolling his eyes and nearly shouting to get all their attention and break the awkward silence of the room. "Goddamn. I can't believe you haven't said _anything_ about your parents to Michael. You fucking idiot."

Gavin shrugged, every muscle feeling tense, his nerves completely on-edge, "It just—never really came up." He shook his head, trying to shake the thought of having to explain himself from his head, sparing a glance at Michael and sighing again, "It's not what you think. Really."

"Your mother is fucking protective mom gone wrong, dude."

"I _know_ ," He'd heard this a million times, at least three quarters of that million from Geoff's mouth in those exact words. He couldn't deny it. Somehow, Geoff was able to sum up his entire relationship with his mother in those few words which was, to say the least, unsettling.

"No, you don't. She's one of the goddamn _weirdest_ people I've ever met. Ultra-religious—"

"—That's not a bad thing!" He was fully aware of how absolutely _desperate_ he sounded now, trying to defend himself in front of Michael without really even knowing _why_.

"—But she doesn't give a single shit whether or not Gav's straight. Just that he gets married, moves back to England to take care of his family, and gets a real job after going to one of those prestigious asshole universities. So yeah. She's really sort of batshit. She hates everything Gavin does and takes everything as an excuse for him to move back home and pretty much berates him over stuff at every possible chance."

Gavin groaned. Loudly. It wasn't _just_ that. It was more. And infinitely more complicated than that, too. Really, Geoff _couldn't_ sum it up in just a few words, and he was making his family sound absolutely _horrible_. Which it wasn't—not all the time, honestly. It wasn't something that could be just thrown into 'overbearing protective crazy mother'. It was more than that and Michael wouldn't actually be able to bloody _understand_ unless he saw it himself.

"She's also a horrible liar," Burnie added on, just piling on more of a bad impression onto Michael, though this information was probably more important than anything Geoff had to say. It was also, unfortunately, true, as well as the reason for a good amount of Gavin's discontent.

"She would never lie to any government agency," Gavin tried to explain, speaking for himself at last. "She just—she wouldn't. That means…"

"That means that you'll actually have to convince her and the rest of Gavin's family if you two actually want to stay out of federal prison," Burnie finished for him. "Which means you two will being going to England. Tomorrow. I already emailed the flight itinerary to you both. I hope you realize it was fucking _hard_ getting you two a flight the week of Christmas."

\--

"So you're really engaged, huh?"

Lindsay hovered over him, a cup of coffee in hand, leaning down to look at Michael as he slumped over his desk, his head still pounding and his eyes drooping with the lack of sleep from both last night and early today, when two of his bosses had taken the courtesy of fucking _breaking into his house at six in the morning._ What was worse was the fact that they'd come to complain about how he and Gavin were doing something horribly illegal when they'd just oh-so-ironically committed a full-on breaking and entering felony. With the way they'd gotten yelled at though, Michael hadn't exactly been willing or even awake enough to point that out. He was sure as hell making them pay for a new set of goddamn locks, though.

The cool surface of his desk was flat against his cheek, his back hunched over as he peered up at Lindsay, at least opening his eyes and looking at her, which was more than he'd done for anyone else yet today. "Yeah. Guess so," He muttered, wanting nothing more than to be back at home, sleeping his shitty hangover off and without people constantly coming up to him and jokingly congratulating him with slaps on the back and purposefully yelled words when every single one of them _knew_ he was horribly hungover. Working at a company full of people from the internet obviously had its benefits—example, no one even hesitating to agree to carry on the lie of their engagement—but it also had its horrors. Example, everyone with a brain exploiting his hangover .

Over the past few hours, he'd learned to just ignore them, keeping his headphones on while editing or his head down when not. Lindsay was different, though, for a variety of reasons. For one, she hadn't snuck up behind him and screamed something obnoxious in his ear, as Miles had so _kindly_ done just fifteen minutes before. Secondly, she'd brought him coffee. He couldn't turn down anyone who did that for him.

"I guess so," He did her the favor of actually sitting up and looking at her, his head pounding as he did so. Being at the emergency meeting had taken a toll on him, having to listen to Burnie tell everyone over and over to not let the public find out about the engagement. That meant no tweets, no statuses, no references, and _definitely_ no replies to anyone who asked why Gavin was wearing an engagement ring. The whole discussion of not letting the public find out had brought up the scenario in Michael's head of what if they _would_ find out.

They weren't telling them. There was no reason to tell anyone unnecessary about the engagement if it wasn't real, especially since it would cause chaos and havoc between fans. It would be a lot of shit for something that wasn't real, and everyone had agreed they didn't want that, especially Michael and Gavin. They'd already decided to pass it off as just something they wanted to keep private so that over a million people wouldn't know something so personal about them, and that was how they'd decided to word it if anyone got suspicious. The whole thing would be kept between them, the company, and Gavin's family.

The prospect of it getting leaked, though, was still terrifying.

Lindsay sat down in Gavin's chair opposite Michael, looking at him for a long moment before speaking, her voice low and suddenly serious, "Do you really think it'll work?"

He knew that was the question on everyone's minds, the thing no one dared to say aloud. It was the question Michael had been asking himself nonstop as well, never really able to find a good answer. He wasn't about to lie to Lindsay, not when she was one of the only people Michael could really confide in.

"It has to," That was the truth, the only thing Michael knew at this point. It wasn't a question of whether or not _he_ thought it'd work or if Gavin would think it'd work or if anyone else did. It had to work, plain and simple. This entire situation was a literal embodiment of 'go big or go home'. Either it worked, or Gavin would be deported and never be allowed back and Michael would be in prison. There was no in-between.

That was scary, to say the very least. Neither of them had realized the risks of _prison_ last night. Neither of them had done any research on it or asked for anyone else's opinion. Gavin was right—it could very well work if things went right, but if they didn't, they were both going to be in deep trouble with international governments. It had to work. It had to work and if it didn't, Michael would be losing his best friend for good.

He expected Lindsay to look downcast and disappointed that he hadn't answered her question. Instead, she just grinned at him, "Good. It will work. I'm going to help you, Michael. If there's anything you need, just call me."

He didn't know if it was just a bad day or if everything was just beginning to weigh down on him, but he just wasn't feeling her positivity, "I'll be in England tomorrow, Linds."

"So? I'm just a phone call away, idiot."

Despite his negativity, there was something about that that made him feel better. It reminded him that it wasn't just her—the entire company had just agreed to lie for Gavin and Michael without a single objection. Everyone had known the risks; Burnie had made them absolutely clear. And yet, everyone was completely willing. If nothing else, they had the entire company backing up, and Michael suddenly realized that he wasn't _actually_ alone in this. He had the company, Geoff and Burnie, Lindsay, and above all, Gavin, who would be going through everything he was. He wasn't alone at all.

He didn't have the words for it, to express his gratitude at what everyone was putting on the line for him, so he just looked her in the eyes and said a simple, "Thanks, Lindsay."

She got up from Gavin's desk, "I'm right behind you and Gavin. Just remember that. Also," She shot a playful wink at him. "Make sure to tell Gav to make me a bridesmaid."

And for the first time that day, Michael laughed.

\--

"Gav."

Gavin Free was a lazy shit and he knew it, but he was a hard worker. He did his job, and he did it well, and that was something he continued to pride himself over. Editing things he'd filmed or Let's Plays gave him an outlet, a place he could go where he could focus on working and not have to think about anything else. That was what he'd immediately jumped into the moment the emergency meeting had finished and Burnie had told him it was alright to return to work, and what he hadn't taken a break from doing since. He didn't even look up, hearing Michael call his name through his headphones, but not registering it until Michael said it again, his tone far more annoyed than before.

"Gavin _fucking_ Free. Are you planning to just sit there at your goddamn ass all day? Because I can leave without you if you want, shithead."

His words were accompanied with his headphones being torn away from his head, pulled off it such a sudden way that it made Gavin jump so much that he rammed his knees into the underside of his already hole-ridden desk. He yelped in pain and twisted around to face the offender, Michael staring back at him, holding his headphones in his hands.

"That _hurt_ , Michael!" He threw on his usual whine, his voice high-pitched and words drawn out. Michael just threw his headphones onto his desk, knocking over a couple game cases in the process.

It was easy, comfortable, and it took Gavin by surprise with how easily they'd slipped back into the normalcy of their relationship. Today was a day Gavin hadn't wanted to deal with anyone, which was the main reason he'd gone straight to diving into his work and had barely looked up since. He hadn't wanted to talk to Michael, especially, not after being told that Michael could go to _prison_ if things didn't work out. Guilt wasn't a thing Gavin felt often, but this situation was nothing usual, and now he'd thrown Michael in jeopardy of losing the life he'd built for himself, as well, all because he hadn't thought to do more research on what he still considered to be an idea that would work.

Getting married was still a good idea, yes, but Gavin was left wishing he'd done more research or called Burnie beforehand, even though he probably would've been talked out of it. The emergency meeting had brought so many perspective ways to failure to light, so many ways he could end up back in England for good and Michael in prison, that this was almost beginning to feel impossible.

Almost. But not quite. It had to work, and that was the only thing he could really say for certain right now. It had to work, but he'd been terrified Michael was furious with him after learning what would happen if they were caught. He'd been avoiding Michael all day, putting off any sort of a confrontation with him, having been under the impression that Michael was upset with him. From the looks of it, that didn't seem to be true.

The annoyance was the usual fake-annoyance, and anger was completely absent from his face. He wasn't angry, and as surprising as it was, it caused a grin to break out on Gavin's face.

Michael sighed, rolling his eyes at him, "Let's go, idiot. We can grab dinner or something and then I can drop you at Geoff's so you can pack."

Right. Honestly, he hadn't really given any thought to that, either. Burnie and Geoff had booked he and Michael for the first flight on the twenty first. They were flying into London first thing tomorrow. Which meant—he'd be staying with his parents until the twenty eighth. Seven days. A full week. He usually only stayed a couple days during Christmastime, even less now that he could just fly Dan out to the States to do Slow Mo Guys, which cut out _a lot_ of Gavin having to see his parents. He hadn't stayed an entire week with them since he'd started living in the States, and he hadn't intended on ever doing so. There was only so much of his family he could take, and he didn't like to push those limits, considering the fact that they were constantly swinging from bad to good and back again.

Just the thought of staying an entire week was nerve-wracking. He didn't _want_ to pack for the trip. He didn't _want_ to go on the trip at all. He didn't want to get on a plane tomorrow morning and he didn't want to talk to his mother or tell her about the engagement and he definitely didn't want her involved in this. It was almost funny to think about—it wasn't the wedding he didn't want to do. It wasn't that he was getting married to Michael. It wasn't even the fact that he was getting _married_. It was the fact that he'd have to see his family again, to tell his mother about the engagement, and then have to face an entirely new round of arguing over his 'lack of realistic future plans'. He didn't want to go through that at all, not when he thought he'd left all that behind when he'd moved to the States.

At this point, though, he'd just accepted the inevitability of it. It wasn't something he could avoid, and it wasn't something Michael could avoid, either. It was something they had to do, and despite that, Gavin still couldn't shake the anxiety that had been threatening to shake him ever since he'd seen the flight itinerary in his email.

"You coming?"

Michael took him out of his thoughts instantly, his gaze softening a bit on Gavin upon seeing his lack of reaction. Gavin immediately snapped back to reality, reaching back to flip off his monitor and then standing up from the desk. "Yeah—Give me a sec. Guess I should pack some of this stuff up if we're going to be gone for a week."

For the first time in hours, he stood from his desk, glancing around and finally coming to the realization that it was way later than he'd thought. The lights were off in the Achievement Hunter office, the rest of the building eerily silent and empty. Everyone else had left without telling him—or maybe they had, and Gavin had just been too entranced in his work to pay attention. He and Michael seemed to be the last two people left in the building, everyone else having gone back to their homes and families.

"Damn. A week," Michael commented as Gavin looked the things lying out on his desk over, trying to make a mental list of what to bring and what to leave. "Gavin."

"—What?"

"We're coming back. You don't need anything from here. Geoff already told you that you're not allowed to work at all this week, anyways. It's a vacation, idiot."

That made Gavin freeze, his thought process completely stopping. They were coming back. Michael had said it himself. For them to come back, this had to work, and for this to work, they both had to be on-board with it. There hadn't been any doubt or hesitation in Michael's voice when he said they'd be returning, and there was no way he didn't know the implications of saying it. They were going to be coming back, back here, home.

It was the little push Gavin had needed. The entire day had been him trying to distract himself from everything at-hand by drowning in his work. That way he wouldn't have to think about his parents or Michael potentially being angry or how everything could go wrong, but that didn't change the fact that all that was still _there_ and had had Gavin down ever since he'd left the immigration office just twenty-four hours ago. Michael's words gave him the small spark he needed to get going again, instead of constantly focusing on how goddamn _fast_ everything was moving around him.

Some bloody vacation, but in the end, Michael _was_ right. Geoff had banned him from doing any work in England, so taking any recording or editing equipment would be pointless. It essentially was a vacation, though it was a vacation in which he'd be doing something much harder than working—trying to convince his family that he was in love with his coworker and then getting _married_ to said coworker. In more ways than one, it didn't sound like the most enjoyable trip.

"Yeah," He nodded slowly, looking around the office once more, just in case he _didn't_ come back. He wanted to imprint the image of the place he'd worked his ass off to get to in his mind, because despite that it _had_ to work and despite that it _would_ work and despite that they would _make_ it work, there was that consistent voice in the back of Gavin's head that he was about to lose all this and this would be the last time he ever saw this office. He allowed himself a moment, no more, no less, to dwell on it, before turning back to Michael. "Alright. Let's go."

He could almost swear he saw the hint of what looked to be a sad smile on Michael's face, and he wondered if Michael was doing the same thing he just had. After all, the stakes were even higher for Michael, "You wanna go out for a drink or something?"

"To celebrate our first successful day as an engaged couple?" Gavin leaned in towards Michael, grinning in the way he knew usually annoyed him. "Sounds absolutely _top_."

\--

They ended up downtown, Michael with a plate of food he didn't want, and Gavin with a glass of whiskey he probably shouldn't have had, but Michael had pity-bought him anyways.

It was in the back of the bar, the two of them sitting together in a rare moment of silence, Gavin looking out the window, watching the city scene outside, and Michael watching him, that he finally saw Gavin relax. The entire day had been chaotic and fast-moving with too much information pushed at him at once, everyone telling them different things, and in the midst of it all, Michael hadn't seen the Gavin he knew once. He'd seen someone different, a kid struggling to deal with everything going on, who had suffocated himself in his work to not think about everything else, who'd barely spoken two words to him all day. That wasn't the Gavin he knew, and it wasn't until he watched him when Gavin wasn't looking that he realized he'd missed that Gavin.

The little spark of warmth that had been missing from him was returning, and Michael watched it come back. It was a relief to see him unwinding at last, after a day's worth of a lot of stress took its toll on him, leaving Gavin the most tired-looking Michael had ever seen him. He was starting to calm down, his relaxing beginning to bring Michael down with him, as he slowly became less and less on-edge watching Gavin.

"You really like it here, don't you?" He kept his voice low, matching the quiet murmur of the rest of the bar around them. It only seemed appropriate, especially since part of him didn't want to disturb Gavin. It wasn't often that he saw him like this, serene and subdued, absorbed in his own thoughts and not saying too much. He almost wanted to keep looking at him, to keep watching as that light returned to him, as Gavin slowly became himself again.

Gavin turned to look at him, a hint of a smile on his lips. Another rare thing—Gavin usually _grinned_ or _smirked_ , but hardly ever _smiled_. It made him want to take a photo.

"'s home, Michael," There was a slight slur to his words, an obvious effect of both being taken off-guard by Michael as well as the alcohol going through his system. He definitely shouldn't have let him drink, being as they were both set to get on a flight early in the morning, but they were both fucking adults, so it really didn't matter all that much. He suspected Gavin would just sleep the entire way there, anyways, and since it was a twelve hour flight, that seemed entirely possible.

For the first time, Michael glanced out the window Gavin had seemed so entranced with. It was nothing interesting, really, or out of the ordinary—but Michael came from New Jersey, where the bright yellow lights and accompanying crowds and city-noise weren't uncommon. Michael had grown used to it after growing up in the city. For Gavin, it was still magical. He could tell from the way Gavin's green eyes lit up at the prospect of going downtown, and how the atmosphere worked its wonders on relaxing him.

"What do you like about it?" It wasn't a conversation he imagined they'd be having in any other circumstance. Gavin wasn't the sentimental type and neither was Michael. Their conversations were usually filled with crazy scenarios or ridiculous arguments they had, rarely touching on anything deeply personal. They also usually went out with other people, be it Lindsay or Barbara or Geoff and his family, but sitting alone with Gavin in the back of the bar—it seemed only natural.

Gavin didn't answer for a moment, stirring his drink, and Michael let him think, "The sun."

Michael snorted, "The sun. Seriously?"

"—What?!" If he didn't know Gavin better, he would've thought he was seriously offended at his remark. He knew better than that, though.

Michael threw his hands into the air in a dramatic show of giving up on him, "The sun. That's so fucking stereotypical. What do you like about Texas? Oh I don't know; _the fucking sun_."

"Michael!"

All he could do was laugh. He knew where Gavin was coming from. He knew exactly where he was coming from. He'd expected some weird Gavin-answer, but not _the fucking sun_. It was enough to break the seriousness of the conversation, making Michael laugh loudly for a few moments, before sighing heavily.

"Alright, Gav. Tell me."

"Well, not if you're going to bloody laugh at me!" Gavin stuck his lips out in the characteristic pout that usually annoyed Michael to no end. He dropped it after a few seconds, his voice quieter and more serious. "I don't know. I like the warmth. It's really damn cold in England, you know? And it rains all the goddamn time. It's warm here, and inviting. It feels like home. Makes me feel like I belong here."

"You do," It was out of his mouth before he could stop it, before he could even think it. Gavin fixed him with an odd look, one he hadn't seen before, looking him right in the eyes and giving him that little half-smile. Michael just glanced away, immediately feeling bad about forcing such a sudden serious turn, "Yeah, well. Let's get out of here. We can walk around for a while or some shit."

Gavin nodded, wordlessly, looking as though he was lost in thought again. Michael allowed himself to watch him for just a moment before paying their bill and urging Gavin out.

The streets seemed more crowded tonight than they usually were, though Michael could easily attribute that to being because it was a Saturday night. Gavin didn't say much, keeping close to Michael's side as he desperately looked for some street to turn down that wasn't as crowded. He could see his breath in the cold air each time he exhaled, remembering with amusement what Gavin had said about liking the warmth of Austin. Finally, they ended up turning down a street with flickering streetlights and closed shops, a place that didn't seem to be of-interest to anyone else out tonight.

It was when they were about halfway down the block, away from the crowd, that Gavin stopped suddenly, looking at Michael, the words coming out of his mouth not something he'd expected to hear from him, "Why are you doing this, Michael?"

It caught him completely off-guard. There were about a thousand things Gavin could mean by that, and he was doing nothing to clarify. Doing _what_ , exactly? Keeping him out like this? Not taking him home yet? Spending his time with him? Marrying him? He had no idea what the hell Gavin meant and no way to answer, but with the way Gavin was looking at him, his face pale and his gaze slightly downcast, he felt pressed for an answer he couldn't give. He felt bad—Gavin wanted _something_ from him, but Michael couldn't tell whether it was reassurance, comfort, the truth, or reprimanding, or if he was just genuinely curious.

Probably not the latter, since Gavin seemed almost—sad. It wasn't a look he'd seen often, or really at all, now that he thought about it. Gavin didn't display his feelings for other people to see; he just wasn't like that, and more times than not, it pissed Michael the hell off, since he just kept everything inside. The closest thing he'd seen to Gavin being _sad_ had been last night, when Gavin had finally broke and just told him he was being deported, and then it was pure devastation and hopelessness that he'd seen on his face. It was different, now.

"Doing what?" He didn't ask it with his usual tone of annoyance, not wanting to push Gavin at all. Even he knew his own limits, and the fact that Gavin seemed like he was actually legitimately upset by something was off-putting in itself. Gavin just didn't get upset by things. He pushed them away or didn't bother with them. Michael had seen him just push something potentially upsetting off hundreds of times with claims that he didn't want to bother with it, but whatever this was was serious, since he was so obviously being affected by it.

"This!" Gavin made eye contact with him, spreading his arms wide around him, his voice raising a few notches in volume and pitch. The urgency was new to him, something Gavin hadn't really displayed before, and it only served to make Michael more confused. He had no words, was struck silent by Gavin's sudden outburst, and he honestly didn't even know what to think. He shook his head, raising an eyebrow and giving Gavin the most incredulous look he could manage.

"Why am I out here with you? I don't know, Gavin, maybe because we're fucking _friends_?" He tried, unable to keep the annoyance out of his tone. He knew that Gavin couldn't really help his vagueness; he really _did_ appreciate that Gavin was actually trying to tell him something and express whatever was bothering him, but he also knew from experience that Gavin's mind worked in such an odd way that his thought process wasn't something he could easily put into words and was even less coherent to the people listening to it.

"No!" Gavin's arms dropped back to his sides, and he sounded close to annoyed himself. Michael nearly felt sorry for him. He couldn't seem to fit it into words, and watching him get more and more frustrated like this was painful, to say the least. " _This_ , Michael. All this. Why are you trying so hard to keep me here? Why do you care?"

"Oh," Well, that was simple enough. He'd also been under the impression that it was pretty obvious, as well. There were times when Gavin could pick up on the smallest details and use them to his advantage, and then there were times like these, when Gavin was about as oblivious and naïve as people came. It was odd to think he could be both, but the proof was standing right in front of him, wide-eyed and frowning, not even looking at him as the two of them stood in the empty and darkened street of downtown Austin.

"Goddamn, Gavin," He shook his head slowly, sighing as he took a moment to look up at the lightless sky, his own breath clouding in the air. He forced himself to glance back at his friend, taking in the way Gavin was now hunched over, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, eyes focused on either his feet or the pavement beneath him. "At least look at me, asshole."

He half expected a loud high-pitched whine of ' _Mi_ chael!', but Gavin seemed too upset for even that. Instead, he got Gavin's green eyes on him rather than the pavement, and it didn't escape him the way he was trembling slightly.

He just shook his head again, still surprised that Gavin had even asked in the first place; he'd really thought his reasoning had been obvious, "Don't you remember _anything_ I said yesterday? We're fucking _friends_. I'm not letting you get deported because I care about you and you're finally fucking happy and you're happy _here_. Not in England. Not with your family. Here. I care about you a whole fucking lot and you know what? It'd really be pretty goddamn boring if you weren't here. I'm doing this because _I_ want you to stay. Is that enough for you?"

Gavin was just staring at him, not saying anything, his mouth slightly agape. The sad look had gone from him, at least, only to be replaced by shock. Michael rolled his eyes, annoyed at his apparent obliviousness when it came to the fact that he hadn't realized that Michael Jones _actually cared_.

"Thank you."

His voice was quiet, and Michael wasn't even entirely sure if he was talking to him or just to himself. He barely caught Gavin's murmured words, nearly losing them in the cold winter's air, but he was glad he hadn't. It was an acceptance, a promise, and it made Michael realize that even though Gavin was distracted and seemingly worried over whatever was to come tomorrow and so forth, he'd be alright. That was what made things okay, what reassured Michael and made him finally relax, and what he accepted as closure, at least for now.

\--

The knock at his door came way too early, and it was way too loud, especially since it was—

—Exactly five in the morning.

Gavin considered it, he really did. He seriously thought over the possibility of not going to the door, of leaving whoever it was out there in the cold, of just rolling over and trying to go back to sleep. They had, after all, interrupted him just as he'd been drifting off, panic and anxiety over _today_ keeping him wide awake throughout the entire night until he'd been barely able to think, let alone worry. If it was someone important, they more likely than didn't have a key. Geoff did, Burnie did, and that was about everyone that could possibly need him so badly that it couldn't wait. Everyone except for—

Michael.

Michael didn't have the key to the little renovated shed he lived in. Michael would sit outside his door and knock and yell until Gavin finally got down from the lofted bed and opened the damn door. Michael would subsequently wake the entire Ramsey family up, as well as their surrounding neighbors in the process. That really was the last thing Gavin wanted, and Michael was one of the few people he'd actually get up for at five in the goddamn morning. That was the thought that had him climbing down the ladder and wrapping himself in a blanket to brace the cold as he opened the door to the outside, staring with his eyes only half-open as he struggled to process what he'd thought would be Michael standing outside his door with that trademark half-annoyed, half-angry expression.

Only it wasn't Michael.

In fact, the man standing outside his door looked nothing like Michael. He looked a lot like a government agent, wearing the stereotypical suit and dark-rimmed glasses, as well as that condescending smile Gavin absolutely _couldn't stand._ It wasn't hard to figure out that that was exactly who it was, even in Gavin's barely-conscious mind.

This guy was from the immigration agency. That much was obvious. He knew he'd have to meet this guy eventually, the guy that would be making sure that his and Michael's relationship was legitimate, but he hadn't expected him to show up at five in the morning when it was still pitch black outside. Nor was he in the mood to talk to him, or anyone, really. Gavin stood with the door wide open, wrapped up in the comforter he'd pulled off his bed, the cold biting at his feet and face, staring at a condescending looking government employee, and all he could think of was how great it'd be to go back to bed.

That was all he wanted. He had no idea when he'd finally fallen asleep, but his entire night had been spent trying to get comfortable and then trying to lure himself into sleep. Every time he'd started to drift off, his mind would wander, always arriving at the same place—thoughts of what today would bring, thoughts of England, thoughts of his family—and every time, panic had gripped him, making his heart beat fast and suffocating him in his own thoughts. His night had been a constant cycle of anxiety and panic, and when he'd finally somehow gotten some relief from it and fallen into a light sleep, he'd just been woken up by this _idiot_ knocking at his door.

"Good morning," The immigration agent's voice was cheery, but by the look on his face, he knew _exactly_ what he was putting Gavin through. And really, how could he not? Anyone who spent more than five minutes with Gavin knew that he wasn't himself, that whatever was going to happen was eating at him. Michael had picked up on it a lot the previous night, when the two of them had gone downtown on a closed down street, with Michael having to give Gavin the reassurance he needed.

"Still looks like night to me," Gavin muttered, half under his breath.

"Sorry—did I wake you?"

Gavin didn't answer, glancing behind him to look at the main house. The lights in the kitchen were on, meaning someone was up, that someone most likely being Geoff. It made sense—there was no way this guy could know that he lived in the backyard in a renovated shed without having talked to someone, but it still annoyed him, since this was his problem and he hadn't wanted anyone else to bother with it. He cut right to the chase, not wanting to deal with any small talk, uneasy even talking to him, "Why are you here?"

The smile faltered, but only for a moment, "I'm Agent Anderson. I work for the immigration bureau and—"

"Oh, come _on_ ," Gavin's tone was harsh and exasperated, and he didn't have the energy to keep up a polite front. "—And you're here to make sure my engagement is valid, yeah? Tell me something I don't already bloody know."

The smile was gone completely, replaced by a hard frown, obviously displeased with Gavin's lack of respect towards him, "Well, since you seem to be on top of things, I guess I don't have much else to tell you. My visit with your fiancé went similarly. Is there a reason you two don't live together, by the way?"

He was being tested. He could recognize it immediately. "Switching over my residence on official papers takes a long time if you weren't aware."

It was an answer he'd prepared. When Geoff and Burnie had been over the previous day, they'd discussed some of the basics—what to say if asked general questions, how to act, and other things they'd need to know. It was rehearsed, but Gavin still got a twinge of satisfaction when the agent glanced down at his clipboard, frowning slightly more for a split second, meaning his answer had matched Michael's.

"I see," His voice had a hint of finality in it, and relief washed over Gavin. Almost done. "I'll be seeing you around then, Mr. Free. I wish you the best of luck."

His formality and final words only served to make Gavin angry, his anger reminding him of how he'd stormed out of the immigration office in the first place after losing control of his emotions. So instead of lashing out or giving him a sarcastic response or even giving him the satisfaction of knowing he'd taken a stab at Gavin and succeeded, he closed the door in his aging face without a single word.

\--

He couldn't sleep again.

After his encounter with the agent, he'd been left staring up at his ceiling again. He'd moved from his bed onto the couch, unable to get comfortable. His feet hung off the edge, his body shuddering with the cold that he was no longer used to, and he wondered how many times he'd counted the small number of ceiling tiles.

He couldn't sleep. He was exhausted. He wanted to sleep. But he couldn't. He couldn't even close his eyes.

It'd been months since he'd been back to England. The last time had been some point during the summer. He didn't _have_ to go back to England often. The only thing that had forced him to keep going back every few weeks had been Dan, and now he could just fly Dan to the States whenever he was off duty. Dan had been the only good thing in England, as much as he hated to admit, and now that he could see him without having to go there, whether it was for Slow Mo Guys or just because he wanted to see him, he hardly ever went back.

He was obligated to go back about every six months so really, the time was coming up anyways. But he never stayed for more than a weekend. He never wanted to. A weekend already had him at his limits, pushing at his temper and making him miss Austin. He couldn't even begin to imagine an entire week. He was dreading it, dreading even getting on that plane, dreading having to tell her that he'd gotten engaged, dreading having to spend Christmas with his family. He'd already told his mother he wouldn't be coming back for Christmastime. Having to go back on his word felt like a defeat.

He wished it was Michael's family they had to tell. It was different with Michael, though. Michael had always been estranged from his family, rarely calling or visiting them. Gavin's mother, however, was overbearing, and it'd look suspicious if she wasn't told right away. The fact that Gavin was the foreign one just made things all the worse.

Part of him felt caged, like an animal. It made him feel trapped and claustrophobic, and he wasn't even in England yet. Everything was on the line. One slip up meant he could lose everything. The possibility daunted him, lingering right in front of him, and even though he was desperately determined to make it work, he was acutely aware of the possibility of the fact that there were so many thing that could go wrong, so many ways it could fail, and only one way that would lead to things succeeding.

He wanted to sleep. Sleep would provide some sort of outlet for this, an escape from the reality he'd created. He found it hard to even lay still, this thoughts racing while he was unable to settle on one thing to focus on. Everything was happening all at once, and it felt overwhelming. Sleep was out of the question. That much was clear.

By the time Gavin finally gave up on trying to sleep, it was almost time to go. His bags were by the door, and Geoff had searched them the previous night to make sure Gavin wasn't bringing anything he could possibly do any work with. His tickets were already printed. Everything was set to go and Gavin could only stare at the bags by the door to the apartment, barely able to believe this was actually happening.

It was almost time to go, but Gavin was stuck between the weird time of having everything done and it not being time to leave yet, which put him at a loss for what to do.

He didn't want to be alone, and at the same time, he didn't want to bother anyone. Almost absentmindedly, he pulled the door to the apartment open, staring out into the dully gray lit world at the main house. Geoff had presumably gone back to sleep, being as the house was dark and silent again. The air was bitter, but Gavin was dressed and wrapped up in a coat, already ready to go, the sky above him a dark gray blue that was slowly turning an array of different colors as the sun threatened to break the horizon.

Gavin stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, running his fingers over the edges of his phone as he absentmindedly tapped it against his leg. For the first time in hours, his mind felt as crystal clear and cold as the air he was letting into his apartment, and he finally let himself _breathe_ , measuring each draw of out and in, counting the seconds as he watched the sky wash the Ramsey's yard with pinks and yellows and oranges, and Gavin froze for a second, wanting to take a photo or film it.

He wanted to capture the moment, and he wanted someone else to share it with. Looking out at it filled him with a feeling that felt alien to him, something warm and fulfilling and yet, he still felt something missing from it all, something he still wanted.

Before he could really realize what he was doing, he was on his phone, searching through his contacts for a familiar name, only having to look a few seconds before he found what he was looking for. A moment later, he held the phone up to his ear, listening to the dial tone and waiting, waiting.

It didn't take long. Two rings.

There was no greeting or questioning as to why Gavin was up so early.

"Agent Dick visited you, too, didn't he?"

Michael sounded about as tired as Gavin felt, and Gavin knew that Michael was in the same place as he was. They were both up early, before they had to leave for the airport, both of them sounding tired and stressed out, tension pulling at Michael's voice, but somewhere, he sounded relieved and Gavin felt himself smile at the nickname.

"Yeah. He was a cock, wasn't he? Glad I had the pleasure of meeting the guy who'll be following us about and interrogating us," He stared outside as he talked, feeling himself relax as he leaned on the doorframe. He was just glad Michael hadn't asked him _why_ he called. Honestly, Gavin didn't have an answer to that question. "You having troubles sleeping, too?"

There was a pause on the other end and he heard Michael sigh, "I can sleep on the plane. I assume you will."

"Michael, please, I wouldn't dream of doing that."

"Yeah, right, asshole. Tell that to the last time we went to a convention together and you snored the whole fucking way there."

Gavin snorted with laughter. The conversation felt easy and normal, even though they were leaving for England within a few hours. It was almost surreal how nothing seemed to have changed about their relationship, how getting engaged hadn't made things awkward or tense between them. Michael was still who he always was, and Michael was still his best friend, who was going to marry him because he honestly cared _that much_ , who was going through everything at the exact same time as Gavin did. Again, he was reminded that he wasn't alone. There was one big difference between all those other times he'd gone back to England and right now—Michael.

Michael would be right there with him. He wouldn't be alone and he wouldn't have to face his family alone. Michael was the one difference that made everything alright, that made it seem doable, and he wouldn't rather do it with anyone else. Michael knew him, and he knew Michael, and for the first time, he wouldn't have to be alone. It was going to be alright—this was going to work.

The two of them had been quiet for a few moments, but Gavin didn't mind. He was content to stay on the phone like this, watching as the world came to life around him, but he spoke again, all of his thoughts running out of his mouth at once, "We're really doing this, aren't we, Michael? We're really getting married."

Michael paused, going silent on his end, leaving Gavin to just listen to his breathing. He let Michael have his moment, letting him come to the same realization Gavin had. Marriage was a huge thing. It was huge and they were doing it and Michael was doing everything he could just to get Gavin to stay here. Michael wasn't alone and Gavin wasn't alone in this. They were doing it together, each pulling the exact same weight with similar consequences.

Michael's next words were energetic, filled with the determination that had returned to Gavin, and it brought Gavin's usual annoying grin back to his face, "Yeah, Gav. Yeah we are. We're getting fucking married."


End file.
